


Another Kind of Alien

by Am (AmaranthineAmusement)



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies), People of Earth (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Pacific Rim AU, help am avoid hw 2k infinity, i' m tryin ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-10-17 04:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10586607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthineAmusement/pseuds/Am
Summary: In a world where Kaiju come out of the Pacific and man has built giant machines to fight them, Ozzie expects to be just another journalist . However, when his boss turns out to be drift-compatible with him, he may end up in the thick of the action.Note: you don't need to know Pacific Rim as a movie to read this fanfic! :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welp here we go again  
> i tell myself not to start new fanfic and yet here we are....

**July 10, 2017 (Morning)**

 

“Good Morning,” said Nancy, looking up as Ozzie strode through the doors of Glint Enterprises. The offices were bustling already; he was a few minutes late. Great.

 

“Hey, Nancy,” he said, shrugging his bag back onto his shoulders and plowing forward.

 

            He felt like shit. It was a Monday, which was never good, and he had a feeling that it was only going to get worse. Wincing as he sat down- he still had a hangover from last night- he looked over his desk. His last assignment, an article about the latest Jaeger Program protests, still hadn’t been edited.

 

            Closing his eyes, he dug out a bottle of Tylenol and swallowed a couple of pills, willing the nausea in his throat to recede. There was supposed to be another march today, but for some reason Jonathan still hadn’t told him if he going to cover it. He’d have to confront Walsh himself.

 

            After he was confident that he wasn’t going to throw up, Ozzie hauled himself out of his chair, heading over to Jonathan’s office.

 

            The nameplate on the door was particularly obnoxious today; Jonathan had recently had it switched out to war-effort friendly glittering plastic, which was quite frankly kitschy and worsened his headache.

 

            Before he could knock, though, a voice called out from within.

 

            “Ozzie! I was just about to call you over.”

 

            The door swung open as if of its own accord. When he entered, Ozzie could see Jonathan, standing at his desk and beaming towards him.

 

            “How was your weekend?” Jonathan smiled, walking out from behind his desk and clapping Ozzie jovially on the back. “Have a bit too much fun?”

 

            Ozzie sighed, running a hand down his face. “Something like that. Listen, Jonathan, I was wondering if…”

 

            “If you could cover the march today?”

 

            Ozzie nodded.

 

            “Yeah, bud, no.” Walsh looked apologetic, but his tone was still cheerful. “You need-“

 

            With a groan, Ozzie interrupted Jonathan. “Is this about me being tasered? Because that was _fine._ I’m great. I’m perfectly healthy and if journalists gave every time-“

 

            “No, no, nothing like that,” Jonathan said. “I know you want that Pulitzer- you _will_ be tasered again. But I had a different project in mind for the next couple of days.”

 

            “What kind of project?” Said Ozzie, frowning. The last time something like this had happened, he had ended up writing about a hippie commune that believed Kaiju blue improved virility. If this was just as weird, he’d just take a sick day.

 

            “Well,” Said Jonathan, beckoning Ozzie over to the expresso machine, “You know that there’s a new shatterdome opening in LA tomorrow, right?”

 

            “Of course I know, Jonathan, that’s what the protest is _about,”_ said Ozzie. His hangover was getting steadily worse.

 

            “Well, I was thinking you could fly over with me to get the scoop. I’ve managed to arrange a one-on-one interview and tour of the new facility before they open tomorrow.” Jonathan checked his watch, which was orange and about three times too large. “In fact, our plane’s leaving in two hours.”

 

            “You- you booked a ticket for me?” Ozzie wasn’t sure how to feel about this. On one hand, it was flattering that Jonathan wanted him on what could be a huge story. On the other hand…. boundaries.

 

            “Well, not _me_ specifically.” Jonathan downed his expresso. “Nancy handles all that stuff for me. But yeah, you’ve got a ticket. Are you in? I don’t want to end up taking Albert.”

 

            “I- no, I’m in,” said Ozzie. He intended to continue and say that it was really a bit rude to just book a ticket for him, but before he could speak Jonathan had gone to the other side of the room and tossed a small bag at him. He caught it and looked inside- his passport was inside, along with a slip of paper that he assumed was his airline ticket.

 

            “Wait, how did you even get my passport?”

 

            “No time for questions, Ozzie, we’re needed at LaGuardia.” Jonathan had already gone out the door, only sticking a single hand back in to beckon Ozzie forward. “Oh, and don’t forget to get rid of your fluids!”

 

            Shaking his head, Ozzie followed Jonathan out, grabbing his bag on the way. This was going to be a pain in the ass- but if he was lucky, he’d make it onto the front page.

 

-

 

**July 10, 2017 (Afternoon)**

 

            By the time they got off the plane, Ozzie was feeling much better. He’d obtained several waters from the flight attendant, and since Jonathan was first class and Ozzie was economy he hadn’t undergone the Walsh experience yet.

 

            “How was your flight?” Jonathan said, walking with Ozzie as Nancy carried his suitcase, a step behind them. “I’ve always thought economy must be so quaint.”

 

            “Yeah, that’s one way to put it…” Ozzie was barely invested in the conversation, already thinking about the upcoming interview. “So who exactly are we talking to?”

 

            Jonathan shrugged. “Can’t say that I know the details. Nancy, could you forward the email to Ozzie?”

 

            She made a vague sound of affirmation; Ozzie checked his email almost reflexively. He was surprised to find that the information was already there; he hadn’t even seen Nancy take out her phone. It seemed like they’d be talking to the main philanthropist that had donated to the Shatterdome Construction, along with an Engineer that worked with Jaeger Pilots.

           

            “Come on, Ozzie, the car’s waiting!” said Jonathan, who was quite obviously not used to waiting for anything. True to his word, there was a black armored suburban waiting right outside of the LAX doors.

 

            Ozzie spent the ride over to the shatterdome looking up the two people they’d be interviewing.

 

            Richard Shenk was a computer part manufacturer turned neuroelectrical engineer; he had done several interviews with the New York Times. From what Ozzie could make out, Shenk was mostly in charge of evaluating drift compatibility of pilots; that could be an angle to follow.

           

            As for the main donor, Ozzie was at a loss. Her name, Margaret Flood, only brought up a brief article about the loss of life on K-day- nothing about her profession or how she had gained her wealth. Apparently her husband had died during the attack?

 

            Looking up at Jonathan as they got out of the car, Ozzie cleared his throat. “What do you know about the main donor? I can’t bring up anything at the moment other than her husband…”

 

            “She sure is a recluse, huh?” Said Jonathan, looking unconcerned. “We couldn’t find anything either, that’s why I grabbed an interview with her. She’ll be showing us around.”

 

            As if on cue, a lady somewhere in her 60’s appeared, waving cheerfully at the gate guard and coming forward to beam at them. “Hello, young men. I suppose you’re the journalists from Glint?”

 

            “Indeed!” Said Jonathan, kissing her hand. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Ms. Flood. You’re quite the mysterious figure. Please, call me Jonathan. The man over there is Ozzie.” He nodded in Ozzie’s direction.

 

            “Well!” Margaret beamed at them. “I appreciate your manners, Jonathan. You can call me Margaret.”

 

            They started off walking into the main dome; it was shiny and new, full of steel and chrome. This was where all the scrap metal was going; into giant robots and massive garages for them. Ozzie swallowed his vague irritation about the concept; he might agree with the complaints about the Jaeger program, but his opinions were irrelevant here. He was writing an article, nothing else.

 

            “So,” He said, clearing his throat, “How long have you been donating to the LA shatterdome project?”

 

            “Oh,” said Margaret, “About two years, I’d say. I was really more interested in Anchorage, but General Laxin- he’s busy today, he was the one that started this place- is really quite _fantastic_ in bed so I was convinced.”

 

            “Ah,” said Ozzie, trying and failing to restrain his eyebrows. Clearing his throat, he tried to recover, nodding along as Margaret started to talk about the shatterdome.

 

            “We’re in the main housing unit,” said Margaret, indicating the great divots in the wall. “Those holes are for the new Jaegers, they’re planning to outfit this place with three. They’re looking for pilots, of course, which is proving a bit difficult- you’d be surprised at how few people are drift compatible.”

 

            She turned into a massive set of doors set at the end of the housing unit. “Still, you’ll hear Richard go more into depth about that later. Down here are the apartments for the pilots and other workers. They need all of the crews on base so that if an attack happens, they’re always ready to jump into action.”

 

            Ozzie nodded; Margaret opened the door of one of the units to let them look inside. It was surprisingly bare, and much smaller than Ozzie would have anticipated. “Why so cramped?” He asked, taking a couple of pictures.

 

            “Oh, well, they’ve got to have a lot of reinforcement in the walls,” said Margaret, already leading them down the hall again. “This is the most secure part of Los Angeles right now.”

 

            “Ah,” said Ozzie, who now felt kind of stupid. Jonathan continued the conversation in his stead.

 

            “I bet you wish your husband had lived in one of these, huh?”

 

            Ozzie nearly stopped walking all together. This was _terrible._ Closing his eyes and cringing, he started planning escape routes and alternate article titles- “how I got kicked out of the LA shatterdome”, maybe, or “Donor proves unreceptive to interview questions”.

 

            Margaret, however, seemed unaffected by this question. “Well, I suppose. Still, my husband died in a very interesting way which I suppose is what he wanted. It’s better than getting old and having to have three hip replacements, at least.”

           

            Ozzie swallowed his regret and jumped back into the conversation, starting to write down her answers to some of his other questions. Jonathan, having seemingly realized his mistake- or at least, being distracted by his phone- was quiet for quite a bit.

 

            It was only once they had gone through the mess hall and training barracks that Margaret stopped walking and Jonathan looked up from his mobile. They were right in front of a large door in the basement; above it were the words “DRIFT PLACEMENT” in clear black lettering.

 

            “Well, Jonathan, Ozzie, it’s been a pleasure,” said Margaret, smiling at them and extending her hand for them to kiss. “I’ll hand you off to Richard now. Don’t let him be grumpy at you.”

 

            “Don’t worry, Margaret, I’ve dealt with worse,” Jonathan said, swooping in again and kissing her hand.

 

            Nodding his own farewell, Ozzie opened the door to the lab. A man in a lab coat hurried forward to meet them, his lab coat billowing behind him. With a hand, he pushed up his glasses; he extended the other. “You’re the journalist, right?”

 

            Ozzie nodded.

 

            “Great. I’m Richard.”

 

            “Ozzie Graham,” Ozzie said, shaking Richard’s hand. “Outside is Jonathan. I was wondering if you could answer a few questions about the drift.”

 

            “Sure.” Richard lead Ozzie towards a desk at the back of the room. A machine dominated the center of the room- two chairs, side by side, with what looked like a bicycle helmet suspended above each and wires forming a massive column in the middle. “The drift _is_ extremely important.”

 

            “…Right. Well, I was hoping you’d start by saying exactly how you fit into the vetting process of Jaeger pilots,” Ozzie said, flipping onto a new page in his notebook.

 

            “Well, mostly I just make sure that they’ll actually drift well together. Some of the previous vetting processes are run by what I would call complete military types, pretty rough guys, and they mess up a lot of the time. It’s hard to get people that are drift compatible even over 40%, and you have to be over 85% to be a piloting pair.”

 

            “How did you get involved with this project?”

 

            Richard leaned back in his chair, nodding over at the helmets. “You see the little white bit that plugs into the back of the helmet?”

 

            Ozzie nodded.

 

            “I used to make those. They realized how great I was at this later.” Richard said, looking very smug. Ozzie restrained any sarcastic comments.

 

            “I see.” He scribbled a note down in his book, then started to ask another question- only to be interrupted by Jonathan, who had just arrived.

 

            “So how many people are drift compatible enough to be pilots?” Asked Jonathan, poking around at the machine. Ozzie swallowed the need to tell him to stop it. _He’s your boss,_ he told himself firmly. _Calm down._

“Oh, less than 10% make it above 80%. We try to do above 90% if possible, though, which is less than 3%.” Richard pulled out a piece of paper from behind his computer. “That’s what’s holding us back right now- some of the new machines the engineering team has developed need above 95% compatibility and we’ve only got… maybe two, three teams in the world who fit that?”

 

            “Huh,” Said Ozzie, scrambling to look at the paper Richard offered him. It was a list of drift compatibility ratings- none of the teams that had been tested here were above 70% yet. “So the issue here is manpower?”

 

            “Well, yeah. Did you think I was lying about how rare it is to be drift compatible? You have to be totally in sync with a person. Your minds have to… fit together. Be complimentary.”

 

            Jonathan gave up on the machine and joined Richard and Ozzie in front of the desk. “What, so… like coworkers?”

 

            Richard snorted. “Please. Leave it to the experts. Most people that work together are way below even the minimum compatibility.” After a second of silence, he continued, saying, “You know, if you wanted an example I could test you and Ozzie. Probability is that you’ll be somewhere around 35%.”

 

            “Sure!” said Jonathan, heading over to the machine. He was way too excited about this- Ozzie felt that this had to be suspicious.

 

            “Are you sure this is safe?” He said, following Jonathan over and taking the other chair. He supposed a first-hand account would be useful for his article- people would lap it up. It was a new fad nowadays, wanting to be a Jaeger pilot.

 

            “C’mon, Ozzie, you’ve been tased. Don’t get weird,” said Jonathan, who wasn’t even remotely qualified to answer Ozzie’s question.

 

            Still, at Jonathan’s goading the test had changed from a safety concern to a matter of pride. Ozzie ignored all of his other concerns and closed his eyes; he could hear the helmet lowering onto his head.

 

            “Ok, well, if we’re done with deciding-“

 

            “I’m in.” said Ozzie, cutting Richard off.

 

            “Great. Testing initiating in 3, 2-“

 

            Ozzie felt his mind spin away and had the strange sensation of his body spinning away from him even as he knew he was standing still. Flashes of memory whirled through his mind, some of them so strange he could hardly believe them- a white ship, deer, a strange grey person, the stars in New York at night- and some of his own. His parents fighting, a machine in front of a grocery store, his last girlfriend- and then it all spun to a stop.

 

            He opened his eyes back onto the room, still feeling like he wasn’t completely in his body. Ozzie tried to stand up, but ended up falling sideways onto Jonathan’s lap. With a concerned murmur, Richard came over to help him up.

 

            “I-“ Ozzie looked up at Richard. The other man’s eyebrows were drawn in a way that indicated something had gone strangely. “Did something go wrong? ‘m I ok?”

 

            He tried to stand up again, this time managing to stay on his feet. He had the strange feeling that he ought to be taller.

 

            Richard let go of him, but the man kept his eyes fixed on Ozzie, flicking occasionally over to Jonathan, who had gotten up a bit more smoothly.

 

            Impatient, Ozzie said, “Well? What is it?”  


            Richard swallowed, then nodded towards the monitor.

 

            It read 95.8%

 

            “You’re in the top one percent,” Richard said, swallowing. “…stay here.”

 

            Lab coat billowing, he strode out of the room, door closing with a bang. Left with nothing else to do, Ozzie sat down right where he was standing- onto the floor. He wasn’t quite steady enough on his feet yet to stay upright.  Still, while his body wasn’t quite obeying him yet, his mind was going a mile a minute.

 

            How were he and Jonathan drift compatible?

 

            And how could he _stop_ it?

           

 

           

 

           

 

 

 

           

 

           


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pentacost doesnt put up with your shit, Ozzie.

July 10, 2017 (Evening)

           

            Ozzie’s head had started throbbing again. He and Jonathan had somehow ended up sitting in front of the leader of the shatterdome, a man named Stacker Pentacost. With a firm demeanor, Pentacost didn’t look like he’d be willing to put up with any disagreement.

           

            “I’ve been told,” Pentacost said, “That you’re extremely drift compatible.”

 

            Jonathan nodded. Ozzie didn’t say anything: he was still trying to think of a way to get out of whatever this was. If this was going the direction he suspected, he could end up stuck with Jonathan for much too long.

 

            “Well, we’ve been looking for a new pair of pilots.” Pentacost was standing up now, even though they’d just entered the room. “You can report back here on Saturday to receive your training orders. Get what you need from New York, but don’t take too much- you’ve seen the size of the quarters here.”

 

            This was where Ozzie snapped. “I- what? You’re not even asking? What if we don’t want to be pilots?”

 

            Jonathan, the traitor, stayed quiet. Ozzie couldn’t help but be surprised- Mr. Ivy League, high class white guy, never done a day’s work in his life, was willing to go off and be a jaeger pilot? With _Ozzie?_

Pentacost drew himself up, leaning over the desk to get uncomfortably close to Ozzie. “Mr. Graham, this is a state of _war._ You are in possession of a rare gift. I didn’t ask you because I assumed you would do the right thing. If you want to be a pansy, you can go ahead and quit- but every person that dies from a Kaiju attack here will owe that to you.”

 

            “Any questions?”

 

            Ozzie stayed quiet this time. Apparently this was just the new version of the draft.

 

            “Good.” Pentacost dusted off his jacket, then said, “I’ll see you soon, Gentlemen.”

 

            With that, he strode out of the office, leaving Jonathan and Ozzie to recover. As soon as he left, though, Ozzie turned to Jonathan. The other man was very casually putting his jacket on, looking for the world like he was excited for the glorious new world of being a foot soldier that lived in someone else’s brain.

 

            “What- what the _hell,_ Jonathan?” said Ozzie, who figured that by this point he could probably swear at his boss- because if they didn’t end up piloting a jaeger together, he was quitting and applying to the New York Times. “What are you even-“

           

            “This could be great, Ozzie!” said Jonathan. “Unrestricted access to other pilots! Just think of the exclusives.“

            Ozzie started to argue, but Jonathan’s phone rang. Holding up a finger, he answered it, saying, “Yes, Nancy?”

 

            “What? No, I don’t- I thought my next donut was in September!” Holding his phone with his shoulder, he fished out a small notebook and flipped through it. “But- what if I don’t want a donut?”

 

            Ozzie didn’t think he’d ever been so confused. Was Jonathan so health-conscious that he only had a donut once a year or something?

 

            “Ugh, I’m- delay them for as long as you can, I’ll be there in an hour.” Ending the call with uncharacteristic aggression, Jonathan turned to Ozzie. “Hey, uh, sorry bud. I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on this- argument? Were you arguing with me?”

 

            He clapped Ozzie awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’ll have Nancy send you the details for your flight home.”

 

            Then, turning smartly on a heel, he left the office, leaving behind only the smell of his cologne. Ozzie, standing alone in the office, couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed in the last five minutes.

           

            Jonathan had started that phone call annoyingly confident, but when he had hung up he had seemed deflated, almost nervous. What was with that?

 

            Not to mention that Ozzie himself was feeling somewhere between terrible and incredibly shitty. His hangover was back, he had apparently just been drafted to fight giant alien monsters, and he was stuck with Jonathan for the entire foreseeable future.

 

            All of this coalesced into an uncomfortable tension: he was unconsciously clenching his fists and teeth, and as he left the office it was hard not to just- yell at something. It didn’t help that he still didn’t really know Jonathan’s full opinions about all of this.

 

            In summary, he really, really needed a drink. And according to Nancy’s last text, he was flying out tomorrow.

 

            If he was going to be stuck in LA for the conceivable future, he might as well scope out the bars, right?

 

-

            The bar was full of smoke, barely anyone was there, and the beer was cheap. In summary, it was Ozzie’s kind of place. The only other person at the actual bar was a middle aged Hispanic guy who seemed extremely enthusiastic about the soccer game on tv: as Ozzie had entered, the man had tried to start a chant. The bar, in all of it’s sullen atmosphere, hadn’t complied.

           

            “I’ve got another shot for you, father,” said the bartender. He shoved a glass at the man.

 

            Ozzie raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment: he had seen weirder things than a catholic priest apparently hanging at the local bar. The priest, however, wasn’t having it.

 

            “I’m Doug tonight. Don’t call me father.” He downed the shot, then sighed, looking up at the game. “Team is bad tonight.”

 

            “Not going so great?” said Ozzie, who figured that a little casual sports conversation might help keep his mind off of things (namely Jonathan- he had three missed voicemails at the moment, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to listen to them if he could help it).

 

            “Ah, yeah, you could say that. Or you could say the truth, which is that this team has gone to shit since the kaiju.” Doug sighed, saying, “Not a fan of football?”

 

            “I’m not really a sports kind of guy,” said Ozzie, wary.

 

            “Lucky.” Doug waved over the bartender, saying, “I’m Doug, by the way.” He leaned towards the bartender. “I’ll take two more shots, please.”

 

            Once he’d gotten the shots, he slid one over to Ozzie, saying, “This round’s on me.”

 

            Ozzie took it; he wasn’t one to turn down a free drink. He just hoped this guy wasn’t trying to hit on him. “Ozzie.”

 

            Doug blinked. “Wait.” He leaned back in his chair, ignoring the TV. “Are you Ozzie Graham, by any chance?”

 

            Ozzie nodded. Was this guy a fan of his writing or something?

 

            “You’re the new pilot, huh.”

 

            Oh, shit. How was he already getting recognized? He hadn’t even agreed!

 

            Doug seemed to sense Ozzie’s confusion. “News travels fast in the shatterdome. By this time, everyone already knows your name, what you look like… don’t expect to get around much longer without being recognized.” Seeming to sympathize with Ozzie, he reached forward, patting him bracingly on the shoulder.

 

            “You work in the shatterdome?”

 

            Doug nodded. “I’m the religious consultant. We do mass, if you wanted to come.”

 

            “I’m not religious, but thanks,” said Ozzie. This guy really was a priest, then. “Next… next round is on me.”

 

            They both took the shots, then turned to watch the game: it was nearly over. Father Doug said, “I take it you didn’t expect to end up like this?”

 

            “I don’t really want to bother you with my problems,” said Ozzie, taking another swig of his beer.

 

            “Can’t be worse than what I’ve heard in confession,” said Doug, raising an eyebrow. “And it definitely can’t be worse than seeing my team getting massacred.”

 

            Ozzie sighed into his drink. “I just- I am going to be stuck with my boss. I am going to have to _be in his head_ , potentially when I die, unless I manage to get out of this.” He took another long drink. The smoke in the bar was starting to get to his head, making him feel like he was spinning out of control. “Not to mention that he’s gonna be in _my_ head.”

 

            “Ooh,” said Doug, wincing sympathetically. “He’s your boss?”

 

            “Yeah,” said Ozzie, “and he’s _weird_. I mean, the guy drinks green smoothies. Unironically! And then he makes _me_ drink them.” He shuddered just to think of it. “He doesn’t respect boundaries, he doesn’t seem to understand basic human behavior…”

 

            Ozzie shook his head. “I just can’t begin to fathom why we’re even… drift compatible.”

 

            “You didn’t see anything in the drift that might pull you together?” said Doug. His tone had shifted in a way that was difficult to pick out. Ozzie shook his head.

 

            “I didn’t- I barely remember anything, it was so quick. Some weird white walls is all I’ve got. And some strange, short grey person.” He rolled his eyes. “I just… he drives a desk. Ridiculous.”

 

            “You should… probably talk to him. Communication is important,” said Doug. Somehow they had ended up outside: Ozzie had a feeling that he had blacked out sometime in the last few minutes.

 

            “Yeah… yeah, I should,” said Ozzie, pulling his phone out. Jonathan had left another voicemail an hour ago:

 

            “Hey, champ! Some complications have come up, so I think you should just stay near the Shatterdome! Feel free to send Nancy emails or something, she said she’d organize it all with the people. We’ve got our quarters figured out, so just report in. Later!”

 

            He started to dial, but his wrist was suddenly stopped from moving. Doug waved a drunken finger in front of his nose. “Not while you’re inebriated. Go home, sleep, and when you’re awake and sober you can confront him.” He narrowed his eyes when Ozzie didn’t respond.

 

            After a few seconds, Ozzie coughed, then said, “All right, I’ll think about it.” Then, the instant that Doug seemed distracted, he bolted. Jonathan was one of the first people on his speed-dial, mostly because it was difficult to complain if you couldn’t get ahold of the man. He stood there as the phone rang once, twice, three times- and then, with a click, the phone was picked up.

 

            “Who is this?”  
           

            That wasn’t Jonathan’s voice. Ozzie had no idea who it was, actually. His brows furrowed. Had he interrupted Jonathan mid-hookup? “This is Ozzie Graham,” he said, attempting not to sound as drunk as he was. “I need to- to talk to Jonathan.”

           

            “Oh, for- I’ll get him, but if you say anything stupid, human…”

           

            “I’ll just go!” Ozzie said, coming to a decision, and hung up before he could be transferred. He didn’t want to interrupt Jonathan in the middle of…. Whatever that was. Still, the guy was weird. _Human?_

 

            Frowning, Ozzie turned his phone off and hailed a taxi. He might as well sleep off the buzz: he’d be met very firmly with reality tomorrow.

 

            He returned to a small, cold room with nothing on the walls- and nothing on the bed except a mattress. He tumbled down, not even caring, and closed his eyes. He’d deal with it tomorrow.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a question.... what should their Jaeger be named? :V
> 
> Feel free to suggest things, bc my brain is gone rn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes another chapter,,,, finally we get to see Jonathan's point of view :>

July 11, 2017 (Morning)

 

            Ozzie woke up to a completely different room. Somehow, in the time that he’d slept, someone had come in and put paintings on the walls (pretentious), a rug on the floor (useful), sheets on the beds and a little scented candle (??) on a dresser- which was new and made in the sort of weird space-age fashion that Jonathan liked.

           

            Groaning, Ozzie sat up- and blinked in surprise. Somehow, when he had come in last night, he hadn’t realized that there were two beds in here. Obviously, he was meant to have a roommate.

 

            It wasn’t just any roommate, either. The person perched on the other bed was Jonathan. The other man was still in his suit, although his jacket was rumpled and he had undone his tie. He was asleep, head lolling on his shoulder. Ozzie had a feeling that Jonathan had been sitting there, waiting for him to wake up, when he had found himself falling asleep.

 

            With a sigh, Ozzie got up as quietly as he could and pulled on some pants: he’d stripped down to his boxers some time in the night, but now that there was another occupant in the room it was probably better to wear clothes.

 

            Turning back to his bed, he frowned- because there was another question. Just how had sheets and a blanket appeared there? When he’d gone to sleep, there hadn’t been anything on there except a weird, plastic mattress cover.

 

            He checked his watch: it was 4 in the morning. He was still on east coast time. Usually, Ozzie would have just gone to sleep, but the anxiety of the day ahead was getting to him. He couldn’t have slept if he tried.

 

            He turned to leave, fingering the key in his pocket. He should go and try to find some painkillers. Before he left, though, he found himself turning around. Moving as quietly as he could, he pulled off Jonathan’s shoes and tie, then tipped the other man over onto the bed and dragged a blanket onto him.

 

            _The AC is on high in here,_ he told himself, _and Jonathan would be a pain if he caught a cold or got cramps from sleeping so strangely._ He very aggressively didn’t examine his intentions any further. He could be nice without any ulterior motives. Really!

 

            He wandered the halls for at least half an hour once he left, turning corner after corner. Usually Ozzie had an unusually good sense of direction, but this maze of steel was beyond him. Eventually, he came upon somewhere he recognized- the front entrance.

 

            “Shit,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand over his face and sighing. Ozzie yawned, then headed over to the guard-post. He might as well ask the person on duty how to find the cafeteria, or something. Maybe they had a map?

           

            The guard, a bearded, chubby man about the same as Ozzie, was sound asleep when Ozzie approached him. It was only after a couple of taps on the security glass that he snorted himself awake.

 

            “Wha- wait, I know you!” He sat up straight, the reflective yellow panels on his vest shining in the light of the early morning. “You’re Ozzie Graham! The new Jaeger pilot!”

 

            Ozzie nodded cautiously. “Yeah, sorry to bother you. I just wanted to get some directions…”

           

            “Yeah, yeah, no problem, man!” The guy gave him a grin. “I can’t believe a _Jaeger Pilot_ needed my help!”

 

            This was a little uncomfortable. Ozzie gave him a cautious smile. “I just- do you know where the cafeteria is? Because I’m a little lost.”

           

            “Yeah, yeah, of course! But it’s hard to give directions, this place is a maze.” The man checked his watch. “I get off my post in ten minutes, I can just walk you there, if you’re willing to wait.”

 

            “Yeah, okay,” Ozzie said, leaning back against the barrier. He could see someone coming out of the main shatterdome: his replacement, presumably. “By the way, I never got your name.”

 

            “I’m Gerry!” The man didn’t seem to feel a need to provide his last name. As his replacement came into sight, he opened the door of the guard-post and smiled. “Hey, Craig! I’m gonna head off, are you good?”  


            Craig, the replacement, nodded. “I’m fine, yeah. Enjoy your day, Gerry.”

 

            Gerry, apparently satisfied with this exchange, headed off into the shatterdome the instant Craig sat in the guard’s chair. He led Ozzie through what seemed like hundreds of turns, chatting all the while. “So, I heard you’re from New York City! I’m from the state, but I doubt you know my hometown. It’s pretty Podunk.”

           

            Ozzie, trying to keep up, shrugged. “I don’t know, try me.”

 

            “Beacon? It’s an hour or so north of NYC, I think. Not that I made the drive very much. My dad was convinced I was going to live and die in Beacon, but I showed _him.”_ He turned to Ozzie, beaming. “I just can’t get over how amazing it is I get to work here! Cafeteria’s up ahead, by the way.”

           

            Ozzie nodded. “I feel like I’ve… been to Beacon.” The name echoed strangely in his head, like a strange sort of Déjà vu, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. “Great town.”

 

            “Yeah.” Gerry’s voice sounded almost reverent. “It’s got the highest rate of alien abductions on the east coast.”

 

            “Really?” Ozzie couldn’t help it. His eyebrows jumped up. Why would someone _know_ that statistic? More importantly, why would they _care?_

“Yeah! Although, with the Kaiju, I guess people have stopped being interested in the other kind of aliens. I have to admit, the Kaiju _are_ pretty cool. Still, I’d prefer a reptilian, or maybe a grey, if I got abducted.”

           

            Right. Ozzie had initially thought this guy was sane, but… at the sight of the cafeteria, he was glad to be able to escape Gerry. He checked his watch: it was nearly 5.

 

            There wasn’t much in the cafeteria, just a lot of long, metal tables and two food stations. One was closed: Ozzie assumed that was where they did the meals. The other had a sign above it: it read _The Remarkable Bean._

 

            Stifling another yawn, Ozzie rocked up to the shop. Behind the counter was a bored looking girl, perhaps a year or so younger than him. She had bright blond hair and the attitude of someone who has seen entirely too much shit. “Could I have a black coffee?”

           

            “Yeah, sure,” she said, tapping his order in. “Sure you don’t want anything else?”

 

            “I’m trying not to give myself too much sugar,” Ozzie said, handing her a couple of dollar bills. “Caffeine is enough at this time of the morning.”

 

            She nodded, heading over to the back and pouring him out a cup. “Fair enough. You’re the new pilot, right?”

 

            Ozzie had a brief but vivid vision of slamming his head onto the counter. Maybe _that_ would make this all better. “Yes.” He hoped it didn’t sound like he was gritting his teeth.

 

            “Rumor on the streets is that you aren’t too excited about it,” she said, handing him his coffee. “I don’t blame you if you’re angry. Pentacost is taking a possibility for diplomacy and shoving it down the drain. I can’t believe they’re forcing people into military service in this day and age!”

 

            Ozzie took the coffee, eyes flicking down to her nametag. Kelly. “Yeah, I’m feeling kind of cornered. No way out, though.”  


            “Well,” Kelly said, raising an eyebrow, “If you ever need to talk, just let me know.”

 

            Ozzie smiled at her, even as he knew he’d probably never take her up on it. Communicating emotions was… not his thing. At all.

 

            Once he had his coffee, he sat down at one of the tables and opened up his phone. He had three missed calls from Jonathan, one from his mom- _shit,_ he’d drunk-texted her _again-_ and one from Nancy.

 

            With a click, he dialed his mother’s number. He needed to resolve that one, at least, before he faced the day.

 

-

            Jonathan blinked himself awake at what felt like mid-morning- but when he checked his watch, it was only 7. _Timezones._ Frowning, he sat up in bed. He couldn’t remember taking off his shoes, or putting on a blanket, and yet here he was.

 

            Even more frustratingly, Ozzie was gone. Shit! Jonathan still hadn’t found out if the younger man knew he was a reptilian. His boss was going to be _pissed_ if the secret had come out, but Jonathan wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Their brains were connected! Not to mention that it was pretty hard to ask if someone knew a secret without revealing the secret and ruining the entire enterprise anyway.

 

            Today wasn’t shaping up well, and he’d only just woken up.

 

            _I still can’t believe that Jeff answered my phone last night_ , Jonathan thought to himself, simmering with anger as he grabbed a v-neck and suit jacket from the dresser. _That was a perfect chance to see if Ozzie knew about me!_

After he had finished putting on his clothes, Jonathan pulled up the map Nancy had sent him of the facility. The only thing that comforted him now was that Ozzie was definitely going to confront him before he went public with anything.

 

            Scratching his head absentmindedly- his fake skin was a little annoying sometimes- Jonathan headed to the cafeteria.

 

            The main meal service had just started for the morning when Jonathan came in. Ozzie was standing to the side, speaking to Pentacost and a couple of other administrators. He closed his eyes and steeled himself. Then, putting on one of his customary smiles, Jonathan waltzed over to join them. “Morning, buddy!” He clapped Ozzie on the back.

 

            Ozzie didn’t flinch away, which was a good sign: Jonathan leaned in. “So what exactly did I miss? Apologies, I had a busy night last night. It’s not easy to resign as CEO of a major corporation!”

 

            At his words, Ozzie wheeled around and stared at him. “You resigned? From Glint?”

           

            “Well, obviously,” said Jonathan. The memory of his donut still stung: he had been informed, in no small words, that he was meant to put up with this until they decided on what the trinity corporation was going to do about the Kaiju problem. That included leaving his job, which he actually enjoyed, to go fight giant fish monsters. “Can’t lead Glint if we’re busy saving the world, champ!”

 

            Ozzie just stared at him, as if trying to think through something, before turning away. “I was just listening to our planned training schedule. You might be interested.”

 

            Jonathan nodded. “Definitely! What are we going to start with?”

 

            Internally, he crossed his fingers. _Anything but drifting again, anything but drifting again…_

Stacker Pentecost clasped his hands behind his back. “You’ll start by dueling each other using short sticks. After that, you’ll work on gaining proficiency with one of the weapons our current Jaegers are equipped with. Once we’re sure you’d be useful in the field, you’ll be put into simulations. Then, and only then, will you be given control of an actual Jaeger.”

 

            Jonathan nodded, trying to look thoughtful. Why did he get the impression that, to Pentecost, they were like small children that needed to be controlled? “When do we start?”

 

            “Today.” Pentecost said. “Eat a filling breakfast. You’ll need the energy.” He nodded to the man next to him. “From now on, your training will be left to Richard. He’ll determine when you’re ready for the simulation.”

 

            With a start, Jonathan recognized the strange man that had found out their compatibility yesterday. Fantastic. Slapping another smile onto his face, he said, “I hope we’ll work well together,” and offered Richard a hand.

 

            “Of course, of course,” said Richard, shaking it once before dropping it. “Anyway, if you understand what you’re meant to do, go eat breakfast- there are important things that I need to do. Go to the sparring room at 8 o’clock.”

 

            With that, he scuttled away, looking like a strange sort of middle-aged beetle. Rolling his eyes, Jonathan headed to the line and checked his watch. “Wait. It’s 7:45!”

 

            Ozzie shrugged, then grabbed a plate of tater tots. “I guess we’ll have to eat quickly,” he said, frowning at his tater tots. Jonathan grabbed a salad- the nutritional standard here was disappointing- and sat down with him, eating as quickly as he was willing to. _This sort of nonsense,_ he thought to himself, _is why I prefer being in charge!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey guess who's not dead??? wow it's me

**July 11, 2017 (Afternoon)**

 

“Keep light on your feet!” A woman’s voice came from the room down the corridor, echoing off the steel walls. The thudding of skin on skin was getting louder as Ozzie and Jonathan walked towards the arena. “Come on, get back up! Anticipate their movements! Don’t let them get you with the staff! Watch the waist, watch the shoulders. Don’t let yourself be caught off guard!” A loud thump: someone must have fallen over. Ozzie and Jonathan exchanged a glance; for once, it seemed like their thoughts were on the same wavelength. _There’s no way this’ll turn out well…_

 

Jonathan was the one who reached forward, sliding the heavy metal door sideways to reveal where they would be training. It was a square, minimalist room with padded walls; a set of lockers was on one end, with staffs and weapons hung up on the east wall. There was a raised platform in the center of the room for sparring; a couple of people were on it now. They looked almost like twins, two men with more muscle than Ozzie thought was fair. One was laying flat on his back, panting; the other had a foot on his brother’s chest, the winner of the match.

 

A woman stood by the side; she wore a bulletproof vest, her long brown hair up in a ponytail. Fingers tapping against her thigh, she waited a good few seconds before saying, “Max, you’re the winner of this match. Both of you, good job.” At her words, the two men separated, both flushed from their workout. They got off the platform, one jumping off and offering his brother a hand. As they left, the woman called after them. “Try to remember what I said about proper stance and communication! If you work hard enough at this, your compatibility could go up.”

 

It was only after they had left her field that she turned to Jonathan and Ozzie, walking over to them with the posture of a woman used to having a gun at her hip. “You look like our new pilots,” she said, sticking out a hand for them to shake. “Alex Foster, FBI. I’ve been pulled in as a security consultant and trainer for the jaeger pilots. You’ll be working with me until you’ve been deemed ready for combat.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Alex,” said Ozzie. “Ozzie Graham.” He shook her hand, then stepped back to give Jonathan room to do the same. She shook Jonathan’s hand, then stepped back and looked at both of them, mouth turning downwards in a thoughtful frown.

 

“Has either of you ever had combat training before?”

 

Ozzie just shook his head. “One of my exes did hot yoga,” he said. “Does that… count?” She sighed.

 

“No. What about you, Walsh?”

 

“I’ve been trained in verbal combat,” said Jonathan. “Debating. Love it!” He flashed her one of his infamous grins, teeth sparkling enough to genuinely give Ozzie a headache. How had they been drift compatible? Ozzie comforted himself with the thought that in a few minutes, he’d at least get to attack Jonathan, get some of this out of his system.

 

The woman opened her mouth, then closed it again. After closing her eyes for a few seconds, she opened them, squaring her shoulders. “Right. Well, we’ll start with a practice spar, see where you need to improve.”

 

When Ozzie and Jonathan both turned to the wall where the staffs were, her response was almost visceral, like when a toddler tries to stick a fork into the toaster. “No! No, uh, absolutely not. You’ll be starting with hands only. Just to assess where you are.” Dutifully, Ozzie headed for the central platform: Jonathan followed. He thought he could hear a minute sigh. Ozzie didn’t blame her; he wouldn’t trust Jonathan with weapons either.

 

He climbed up on the platform, rolling his sleeves up; Jonathan took off his jacket, tossing it to the floor beside them, and started to do the same thing. Ozzie found himself distracted by Jonathan’s forearms, the way muscle moved under his shirt- did Jonathan actually have a six pack? Seriously, what the fuck, what had Ozzie ever done to deserve this.

 

As he rolled his shoulders back, hands up and ready to fight, Ozzie saw Alex standing beside the platform, arms crossed. “You’ll go until someone lands a hit,” she said. “We’re not trying to get anyone hurt here, just get an idea of where you guys are in terms of hand-eye coordination and if there’s a significant difference in your abilities.”

 

Jonathan’s fists were up too; they shuffled around, facing each other; Alex let them settle into it, hearts racing in anticipation, before she finally said, “Start!”

 

Jonathan launched forward, faster than he should have been able to move; Ozzie somehow felt it coming, swerved to the side and tried to trip him. Jonathan jumped over the oncoming leg, tried to elbow Ozzie over- Ozzie slid on his knees to the other side of the mat, ducking under a kick and reaching out to try and grab Jonathan. Jonathan dodged again, the both of them entering a strange state where neither could land a blow. Ozzie would attack, dodge, avoid contact with Jonathan; the same would happen with Jonathan, the other man somehow moving incredibly fast and being able to reverse in seconds. Ozzie wondered if it was all the workouts Jonathan did, or if the other man had just been blessed at birth.

 

He entered a sort of zen state. It felt like he and Jonathan were alone in the room, continually circling around each other, reaching out to attack but always being rebuffed at the same time. His chest was heaving, his skin slick with sweat, but somehow he didn’t feel it. It was like a runner’s high, the oxygen not reaching his brain, or maybe reaching it too well. He dodged a punch from Jonathan, kicked out with his left foot, missed. It felt like dancing.

 

That was, until something caught his eye. Alex’s mouth was gaping open, eyes following them up on the platform. Ozzie looked back to the fight at hand.

 

But he looked back too late. Jonathan lunged, toppling him over and pinning him to the mat. Ozzie felt himself falling backwards, head slamming onto the platform so hard he saw stars. When his vision cleared, Ozzie found himself only a couple of inches from Jonathan’s face. Their noses were half an inch away from touching; a strand of Jonathan’s hair was resting on Ozzie’s forehead. They were chest to chest, both panting, but Jonathan was cool to the touch. Their eyes locked together; Jonathan’s seemed almost slitted in the dim light.

 

Alex’s voice broke through the haze.

 

“All right, that was… twenty minutes without a hit landing,” she said. Jonathan twitched, like he’d forgotten she was there; he rolled off Ozzie, standing up too gracefully to be real. Ozzie stayed on the floor for a few seconds before getting up on an elbow, looking over at Alex thoughtfully. “That’s a record for this shatterdome, actually. Shows how compatible you are. Now,” she said, “We’re going to need to do some individual mock-ups-“

 

“WEEEEEH-WEEEEH-WEEEEEH-WEEEH-“ An alarm started blaring, the lights flicking off and exit signs illuminating. Alex froze in place. Ozzie scrambled to his feet, the loudness of the alarm making it hard to think.

 

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” He yelled over at Alex, trying desperately to make himself heard. She responded, but all he could see was her lips moving. After a few seconds, she tried again.

 

“IT MEANS THERE’S BEEN A KAIJU SIGHTING,” she yelled, hand going to an empty holster at her thigh. “WE’RE IN LOCKDOWN! YOU SHOULD RETURN TO YOUR ROOM.”

 

“BUT WE’RE THE ONLY PILOTS HERE,” yelled Jonathan, from where he was standing next to Ozzie. He was hurriedly putting his sleeves back down, jumping off the platform and grabbing his jacket. “SHOULDN’T WE BE DOING SOMETHING?” The alarm kept blaring in the background, giving Ozzie a headache. The flashing of the red lights was starting to make him dizzy.

 

“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Alex yelled, starting to head to the door. Ozzie shook himself back to life, followed her. In the flashing red lights, the hallways were dim, and the mood had suddenly become forbidding. Kaiju killed people, destroyed cities. And now they were right in the path of one. “IT’S AGAINST PROTOCOL!”

 

“I WOULD THINK THERE’D BE AN EXCEPTION,” yelled Jonathan. He was jogging to keep up with her, now: Ozzie lagged behind. “GIVEN THAT WE’RE THE ONLY ONES CURRENTLY CAPABLE OF DEFENDING THE CITY.”

 

“RETURN TO YOUR QUARTERS, PILOT WALSH,” She just yelled, suddenly speeding up and heading down an unknown corridor, footsteps echoing on the metal walls around them. “I’LL TAKE CARE OF THIS.” She disappeared around the corner. The lights kept flashing, the alarm kept blaring. Jonathan turned to look at Ozzie. Their eyes met.

 

“ARE YOU THINKING WHAT I’M THINKING?” Yelled Jonathan, drawing closer to Ozzie. Ozzie nodded, slowly, watching the way the other man moved. It was strangely fluid, inhuman, like he’d been transported here from another world. His heart was beating at the same rate as the alarm.

 

“I THINK SO!” Said Ozzie. He took a deep breath, put his shoulders back once more.

 

Then he sprinted down the corridor, Jonathan hot on his heels. They may have been forced into this piloting thing, but they weren’t about to let the city of Los Angeles die because of it.

 


End file.
